


More Than You Thought

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-17
Updated: 2006-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-19 02:07:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12400914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: Dear reader: If you are, in fact, a reader, then you are trespassing on my personal property, and I must warn you not to turn a page of this journal! That means you, Sirius Black!





	1. This Journal Belongs To: Lilea Kensley Evans

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

disclaimer: I own nothing but my own random thoughts.

author's note: I love writing, came up with this when I was bored, bare with me, reviews keep me going!

this story is basically an extended version of Lily's journal and thoughts. Her full name is Lilea (Lil-ee-ya) Kensley Evans. But she goes by Lily. So, don't get thrown off or mad. Otherwise, enjoy and if you have questions - ask.

This is an AU, so not everything is by the book.

Abarraine.29 May.2005. 

***

More Than You Thought

***

17 September 1976

6th year – Potions theory

8:47 in the morn

I turned in my seat to glared back at her. Who does she think she is? Right, bad question, obviously she knows how high and mighty she is. The daughter of a famous auror, the epitome of female perfection, seduction master Adare Merriner. Psh. Whatever.

I can feel my insides just burning as I glare at her. Her 'cute' baby blue eyes are sharp with hatred and is that—is it? A hint of jealousy? My word. My flippin' pancake. Holy hottness. Is there a reason for all her jibbing these past few weeks? She's jealous of me? Me? Lilea Kensley Evans?

The short little red head, hardly reaching five foot two. Head so curly it's rivaling Shirley Temple, except for the length, mind you. I can proudly say that my hair is definitely the longest hair in all of sixth year.

And how about my superbly awesome seeker abilities. Founder of the 'Spanish forté' a ridiculously insane backwards dive feint with a piercing 540 to throw off the opponent. Insane.

Oh. Well, Adare really isn't the athletic type, can't be jealous of that then. Really, have you heard of a girl who spends an entire day in her dorm nursing her broken nail ever being athletic? Even stepping outside for Care of Magical Creatures is an intense workout... for her hair. Heaven forbid it move a fraction of an inch. Dear me, the sky would come crashing down!

I'm sick of trying to figure out Ms. Superb. She can't be jealous of me, it's just unreasonable.

James keeps poking me, what the flip! Aww crap. eheh. I'm supposed to be answering a question for Profession Mantly, Potions extraordinaire. Maybe I shouldn't delve into my life's problems and day dreams in the middle of class, especially when it's not a practical lesson.

“Erm...” Maybe James knows the answer, hey! Maybe James knows the question! I hope my pleading eyes are easy to read. Oh good, he's grabbing his quill, smooth.

'Piropo', that's the answer. I'd wipe the sweat off my forehead, but it's too cold down here for it to actually form.

Wow, James has nice handwriting, especially for a guy. My God. I can't pay attention to this sodding lesson for one second without my random brain taking tangents. I need to lay off on that coffee or maybe skip the extra few spoonfuls of sugar in my tea.

Back to Adare and her jealousy with James. Hey! Both J words- sorry, there I went again.

Ow! Someone just chucked a paper wad at my head. I have to roll my eyes now.

It was Caradoc Dearborn, trying to annihilate me again with some type of school affiliated item. Just yesterday it was the remnants of a used quill. That spiffing black ink was fun to get out of my pony tail...

He just won't leave me alone. Everyday it seems, a new way to annoy me or in his words “take in every detail of your precious face”. Precious, please. This pale, be-freckled thing? I often worry about these so-called wizard's sanity.

James seems to find hilarity in it though, the sodding bugger won't stuff it. He's on the verge of collapsing out of his chair he's laughing so hard. All I can do is stare open-mouthed at him. That boy, always finding my embarrassment humorous.

Can I blame him? Not very likely. Me and James, yeah, we're chums. We're chummy chums. Chummiest of Chums. Done now.

Oh, word. An idea just flickered into my enormously small mind. Perhaps that is why Adare is frothing at the mouth, she's jealous of my chumminess with ol' Jamesie boy!

Ha! one up there! Honestly, Adare has no luck in snagging James for herself. Thankfully that boy has better standards, not the best standards mind you. He's aged over the summer, but last year, he got around. Not that way, you perverts, never went past first base. I know this 'cuz we talk. Like I said, chummy chums. I think it was a rebellion thing against his parents.

You see, James has an arranged marriage with my friend Amelia Bones. Take a breather, it's a hard one to swallow all at once, I'll say. I fell down the stairs when Amelia told me. Literally, have I lied to you? Erm... yeah.

You see, it was during the summer, July 19th 3 o'clock in the afternoon to be exact. What? I'm not psychotic with dates and times, it just so happened to be a very shocking day. You tend to remember those things. Plus, I spent the rest of the day nursing my poor, broken ankle until Amelia's parents finally took me to St. Mongos.

As you know, I tend to get off topic, not to mention utter random things. I can't help my insanity so I must embrace it for all that it is.

We were going down the stairs at Amelia's house. James and Remus were waiting by the front door with their studly brooms so we could play some quidditch, Amelia's a purebood so it's second nature for her to fly, but she's only ever done it, hold on, she told me last week – three times. That day would not be her fourth, she prefers to sun bathe. She's the next poster child for skin cancer, I swear.

She's just not your out-going, competitive, give-your-whole-body-up-for-the-game kind of person. Amelia is your average girl. Has worn skirts and dresses all her life, why ever would she conform to the ways of the men and not show off her model-sculpted legs? Oh, Amelia. Such a sweetheart.

I may make out Amelia to be that high, nancy girl we all hate, but not everyone can be athletic like me! Amelia's a better mediator between me and Sirius, she's a better artist, draws fantastic portraits, and Amelia, bless her heart, you just can't get angry at her.

I did it again! I made Amelia be some spineless chick. I'll try again. Amelia's dedicated to everything she does, everyone she meets. She'd kill for her friends and family and there have been times when she hexed the nuts off of Lucius and Rudolphus for me. A slow temper to rise at times, but deadly protective of what she cares about. I know that's why I love her.

Back to her betrothal on that fateful July afternoon. I was ragging on her again, as I always do. “Amelia, what's the sodding deal with not playing quidditch? What do you suddenly have against James that I can't go and talk to him? Hmm?” The poor dear, she finally snapped and spilled after my... three week interrogation of whining. When I say whining, I mean... not that bad kind of whining, yeah? I'm a good person! Cheery, random, no where near eccentric, hyper, erm... and klutzy. Who wouldn't love a little wired person like me? And little, yes, little.

“Lils, I don't want to talk to James Potter nor see James Potter ever again in my entire life because my sodding parents are forcing me marry the pompous arse! Don't you—” I fell down the stairs. Head over heels, I fell. Must have been quite the spectacle. Petite little Lily, grandly tumbling down the front stairs. Red hair flying followed by a high ear piecing yell.

Turns out to be the best thing I ever did. James and Remus came to my rescue, a little to late to remove the damage done, and Amelia, too preoccupied with my safety didn't even remember she had vowed to not speak to James.

The day ended well enough, my leg in a temporary cast, and Amelia and James friends again.

Take that Adare, take it all and stuff it! You can glare at me because I have James at my elbow, but that's the farthest extent you will get, my friend.

And Caradoc, that boy needs to learn how to lure in a women, erm, well, how about a girl. I'm not sure I'd consider myself a women just yet. Maybe when I get married, eat three dozen fish nuggets or wear a ball gown.

Thank God, the bell finally rang. Another potions lesson done and forgotten, literally. I didn't pay attention to a smack of it. In one ear and out the other.

I'm doing an experiment- to see how many days I can go without writing in my journal, unfortunately if I want to succeed on that, I must put my it away now. Hide it under my bed, no, I'll just grab it from under there. Give it to Amelia to hide, heck no! She'll read it! I know! Tie it to my owl and send her to Egypt, that'll take at least a few days. Then when she gets back I can write in it again!

Everyone says I spend too much time writing in it, so I'm about to win my bet with James and not open it for... this is rather hard. For, breath intake, two days. Need not worry, I won't get a substitute. Or will I? A loop hole.

Ew, googly eyes from Caradoc, fleeing now!

The proud owner of two galleons when I win that bet.

—Lily Evans 

***

 

Please review! Keeps me motivated, as it does you! 


	2. The Definition of Libel

disclaimer: I own nothing but my own random thoughts.

author's note: I love writing, came up with this when I was bored, bare with me, reviews keep me going!

this story is basically an extended version of Lily's journal and thoughts. Her full name is Lilea (Lil-ee-ya) Kensley Evans. But she goes by Lily. So, don't get thrown off or mad. Otherwise, enjoy and if you have questions - ask. This is an AU.

I have also deepened Sirius' character, changed it to form a more real life feeling with all the crap he's been put through. Not to worry though, the story evolves as do the characters. No flames please.

Abarraine.4 June.2005. 

_____________________

_The Definition of Libel_

_____________________ 

19 September 1976

You'll gladly notice that I have successfully skipped the day of the 18th. No writing took place in my notebook. None whatsoever. It's a good thing I skipped yesterday too, because it was horrendously boring. Only interesting thing that took place was that I tripped over Sirius' foot and broke the glass of water I was holding at dinner.

I swear he leaves his feet out in the open for me to trip on! He's evil, through and through! Well, maybe he has a little decency buried deep, deep, deep inside his heart. Yeah, that red mass of vessels that goes _bom bom_ and keeps you alive.

What is up with that git? He's got a perpetual stick up his arse. I glanced at him in Arithmancy just a minute ago and he's got this 'I'm rotting my mind sitting here with brown-nosers and geeky-nose-boogie-eating losers' look on his face. He's draped over his seat, arms crossed. Tough boy. Such potential if he didn't have an attitude that rivals that of Antarctica.

Guess the whole 'tall, dark, and handsome' (not to mention mysterious) look definitely suits the chap well.

He's a pureblood — whoop-de-doo — and he's a dark pureblood, _reformed_. He claims to be against Voldemort— yes, I can proudly say his name. I'm not some spineless dolt who can't utter the name of a serial killer. It's not likely he's about to pop out of the wall and chop my body to bits in the Gryffindor common room.

I'm pretty sure that one day, when I'm an auror, I'll take that sodding jack down. He won't know what hit him. Watch me, at five foot two, whip out my super sonic skills and reflexes and annihilate the creep. I'll be worshiped by all purebloods, they'll name a day after me, I'll have my own parade... okay, I _can_ dream, right?

Voldemort and his 'anti-muggle _everything_ ' crap is really getting on my nerves. And Sirius, the sodding git, is darn set on proving that he isn't aligned with such evilness. But I personally don't see it. He's mean to me. All the time. Muttering about how I just don't belong. Preserve the muggle race, yes, but why do we have to mix?

The berk and I don't get on well. He's strong, forceful, big headed, and mind you, scary as heck! When we got in a row the other night, I could have sworn he was a millisecond away from slapping me to South Africa if Remus hadn't intervened.

Not getting on well is an understatement. We're both stubborn kids who love the feeling of bettering someone else. I suppose I can get on people's nerves though, always asking questions and humming, or in the every occurring case, bumping into people and spilling ink. I'll never understand why the wizarding community hasn't adopted the pencil or pen yet. Why live in the middle ages when there's a definite advancement just around the corner? I'll stick with my pink pencil, thank you.

Sirius, he's the poise, cold-hearted, handsome one. Eloquent, breathtakingly beautiful and extremely brilliant. He could easily get top grades if he applied himself.

I come off as a punky little red head with too much energy for her small body. Always that carefree smile that fools people into thinking I have the perfect life. Far from it my friends, but I can't let it get me down all the time. Depression is for losers.

I bet if you compare Mr. Black's and my life, we'd be pretty even in our sufferings. I just don't understand his hostility and bitterness. He's got superb friends, a girl hanging off his arm every other week —only purebloods, mind you — and a future if he just tried himself at school. Heck, he's even got a quidditch career lined up after Hogwarts if he wants one. Best darn beater I've ever seen, and James took me to the Quidditch cup a year back and Sirius definitely beats them all. Honestly.

All right, delving into Sirius' impenetrable character has proved to do nothing but aggravate me. More on the dolt when I feel I have enough pages between his abominable name and the next time I must use it. Honestly, someone can only take glares and witty slanders for so long.

Darn my conscience, now I feel like a hypocrite. _Libeling_ him in my book.

You see, I feel I need to write out my contempt for Sirius Black so that maybe I can reread it and make sense of it all. I think our friendship (if that's what you wish to call it) is like trying to fit a square in a circular hole. It's just won't work and it's not meant to happen. You get easily annoyed at the circular hole over the littlest of things. Hey, that's a fine acronym, eh? Fits us perfectly.

Hopefully, over time, we'll be better amigos, I'll wear down his sharp edges. 

****

I'm considering something new to add to my stunning personality – being attentive to those around me, especially those I find odd. Yes, exactly. The interesting, introverted ones. How about studying the girl who's hair is purple with bleach blond zigzags running through it, what goes through her mind to willingly ruin her hair? Or how about becoming James Bond's accomplice and discovering just how Courtney Samuelson and Dreday Fizsimmons get their fix of 'fairy dust' each weekend?

Sounds thoroughly thrilling.

There was this guy at lunch, he had at least five texts in his stick-like arms. His face was pale and contained not one freckle.

Seriously now people, freckles are the bomb! Look at me? I contain measurably five hundred on my body. The bridge of my nose gets more freckles during the summer as I tan!

Anyway, the kid looked a bit like my cousin Franz in Bristol, so I was intrigued.

He first poured himself some crystal water, approximately three quarters full. Then he went and dipped his fork and spoon into the water before vigorously wiping them off with is elegantly folded napkin. Which had previously been set squarely in his lap, complementing his iron-stiff trousers.

I was absorbed in his movements, I watched as he cut a bite of chicken with his freshly cleaned knife, ate it with his shining fork, then went back to cut another bite. I could have _sworn_ I saw his pinky sticking out, the primness of his posture was so astounding!

I had to look away before he went and pulled out his pocket mirror. Psh, wouldn't that be a site? Some posh mumma's boy checking his reflection every twenty minutes. Maybe he and Adare should get hitched...just a thought!

Being 'attentive to those around me' constitutes as more than just ogling at them, doesn't it? I need to put myself in their shoes, or nickers, as you would say. Just slip right into his sallow skin and imagine I'm the prim boy.

Why is he so proper? Possibly he was raised to be the best, show people his best side and win over the ladies... definitely not sure ladies go for the must-be-spotless husband. I mean, you'd have to spend your whole entire life cleaning after him. Get out those cup holders! Wouldn't want to ruin the mahogany now would we?

What if he's a _white_ boy. You know those people. The kind where their wardrobe is all white, bleach it up baby! Where the carpet is white, the furniture the love seat. Heaven forbid—the white satin sheets on the bed!

I'd clash horribly. Looking down right now, my tie is undone, threatening to slip off, my white shirtsleeves are splattered with purple ink, don't even want to look at my hands. I'm a bit messy with the ink. Amelia made me use it this morning. Eh, didn't get around to putting on socks this morning, just slipped on my red flip-flops that I decorated with beads this past summer. Well, look at that! My toe nail polish is still intact, how skum-diddly-umptiously awesome!

So, I suppose this white, prim boy has his own reasons for his incessant pureness. Now wasn't that interesting? I'll look back on this entry next week and look for this boy. I'm pretty nifty, always broadening my horizons.

Perhaps I'll catalog everyone in Hogwarts some day. Starting with Gryffindor, eh? It'll definitely help in later days when I'm voted the best mentor of the school for my observation skills. I really am a mentor too! See, my hopes and dreams are founded on some solid truths! 

****

Amelia has this thing with food. She's a die hard eater. She can consume so much food, I'm surprised she doesn't weigh more than the giant squid. I think I'm getting disgusted at the moment. Amelia's sitting across from me, chowing down on her second helping of lasagna and chicken wings. I've been staring at her for at least three minutes, and in that entire time, she's not spoken one word to me.

Heavens! She dragged me in from laying out in the sun finishing my arithmancy to come and watch her eat. Okay, put yourself into this scene: Amelia Bedelia is in her uniform, everything tidy (unlike me, as you know) soft brown hair pulled into a half pony tail. Mascara painted eye lashes covering most of her soft blue eyes which are undoubtedly fixed on her fork-full of lasagna. And there she shovels in another huge bite, the size of my fist! golly oh mighty. From prim and proper to trailer-trash-haven't-eaten-in-a-week-girl. The transformation is quite interesting. But then, I'm easily amused. Going back to my cheeseburger now. Thought you'd enjoy my interlude of description. I think I'm getting pretty good at describing people. What do you think?

Definite shadow over my chocolate pudding. Definite sighing of the bench I'm sitting on. Definite air movement coming from my left. Someone just sat down next to me and is hovering over my notebook, I have to cover my writings with my arm. Quite a hard endeavor.

"Hey Lilzie, whatcha writin'?" Oh no you don't James Potter, keep your greedy little eyes off my notebook!

"Nothing..." I tried to reply all sweet and innocent. Rats, he's still here.

"But that's what you said _last_ time, and I happen to know that 'nothing' doesn't involve a pen." Bugger that kid just won't leave it alone! Everyone knows by now that my journal is private, with a capital P. It's a sensitive topic. Never have I shown anyone my writings, and it's staying that way.

But hey, just to liven up the mood, I'll give him brownie points for his muggle-paraphernalia-remember-ization skills. I'm gonna try not answering him and see what happens.

I'm about to elbow him in the face, he's leering that close!

"James Potter, move your arse away from me."

"Oh come on Lily, It's not that big of a deal. _Come on_... It's about me isn't it? How hot and sexy I am. How you are trying your hardest to repress the urge to grab me— ahhh OW! Blimey Lil, where'd you dock up that muscle?"

I just can't suppress a cheeky smile right now. I'm a fan of Charley horses, I really am. They come in handy all the time.

"Years of being a tomboy—"

"Steroids, right Evans?" That little berk. This _isn't_ his conversation! I really wish glares could kill...

"Only for you Black, gotta keep that image alive, don't we now?" Weak, I know, but sometimes it takes my brain a bit for those really witty come backs to, well, come. I'll be sitting in class, then suddenly poof I have a come back that would make your mumma cry.

"Sirius, Lily, _please_ , not now. Just one dinner without constant bickering?" Amelia, as I said, the mediator.

"At least my image isn't some wanna-be-hag-of-a-muggle covered in mud—" I slammed my palms on the table, raising myself to meet his eyes. That was below the belt. Sneaky little jerk.

"Sirius you bast—"

"Well, this sounds like a wonderful beginning of an argument." I barely heard James mutter, my focus was intensly on ripping out Sirius' cold blue eyes.

"Please! Lily! Sirius, _please_! I realize you have a huge 'friends' issue, but can't you at least try to keep up a close-to-amiable relationship?” I turned to glare at Amelia and James. Why weren't they upset that Sirius just insinuated that I was a mudblood! Instead, they just looked torn, _of course_ , I may be a friend but some things are thicker than water — like blood.

“A close-to-amiable relationship,” Sirius repeated, raising an eyebrow. “How can you maintain a close-to-amiable relationship with the pebble in your shoe?”

There was a stunned silence as I digested his words, a numbness taking over my face.

“The pebble in your shoe,” I echoed blankly, meeting his eyes. “That’s all I am to you. The pebble in your shoe.”

"Would you rather be the thorn in my side?" His nonchalant stabs are seriously pissing me off. As are my so-called friends, sitting on the sidelines. Gah! just rag on the muggleborn, she can handle it, like always. Not anymore.

"Look, let's settle this once and for all, eh Black?" There was complete silence, I took it Sirius and I were yelling for the whole Great Hall to here, but I did't care. As long as he gets what's coming to him, I could care less of what the whole school thought of me — what am I again? oh, the 'wanna-be-hag-of-a-muggle covered in mud'.

I can see his jaw tighten. Amelia's hand twisting in her hair, eyes uneasy. James trying his best to calm me with his sodding hand on my hand.

"You think I should respect you, kneel down at your presence, subject myself to your discrimination just so you have time to revel in your superiority because you're _pureblood_? I don't care what kind of blood you have! Just because you have a solid family lineage of wizards and witches does _not_ allow you to think that you're better. Let me tell you something, Black, you had to have your magic handed down to you on a bloody sliver platter, I, on the other hand, made it all by myself."

During my tirade, I couldn't help but stare into his eyes; searching for some kind of feeling in his human shell. There wasn't the normal flicker of apathy, but rather a searing hint of guilt. Finally, some bleeding guilt.

Can you see now why I slandered him before? How he always seems to better me with his cold comments? He and I do not get on well, lightly put.

But I'm willing to try. After that flicker of guilt, maybe I can coax some soul out of his ice incased heart.

Bets on how long it takes? Lilea Kensely 

______________________________________________________________________________

**a/n** Thank you to Karen and my two anonymous reviews. You made me SO happy!!  


Just so you know, I LOVE names. I hate the unoriginal Lily Marie Evans, I felt I needed to spice it up, took me awhile to create Lilea and I'm proud of it. :)

Please review!

 


	3. Incessant Flirting

disclaimer: I own nothing but my own random thoughts.

author's note: I love writing, came up with this when I was bored, bare with me, reviews keep me going!

_this story is basically an extended version of Lily's journal and thoughts. Her full name is Lilea (Lil-ee-ya) Kensley Evans. But she goes by Lily. So, don't get thrown off or mad. Otherwise, enjoy and if you have questions - ask. This is an AU._

Abarraine. 3 December. 2005. 

Update: James Potter is bethrothed to Amelia Bones. Sirius is dark, mysterious, handsom and completely loyal to the Marauders, but dislikes Lily. Lily's angry at her friends for being a bit prejudice against those not Pureblood, this is a bone she keeps picking with them because, obviously, she falls into that category. Making her loved friends hypocrites...

abc. 

**Incessant Flirting**

26 September, 1976  
Arithmancy

I'm sitting here, subconsciously realizing how incredibly close his lean, gorgious body is to mine. When he glances out the window, I can feel his warm breath on my neck, sending me cascading waves of goosebumps. His fidgets cause him to shift his body, closer, closer — _closer_ to mine. My peripheral vision is blocked by his immense presence of thick hair. Gosh darn it all. He's touching my arm now. As of just a milisecond ago we've become connected. Heavens. My attention has been diverted to his warmth arm.  


Why must I be left handed? My right arm is laying useless on the table and his left discreetly touching it. That sodding berk, is he trying to make me fail my quiz?

Ten minutes left of class and fourteen questions to go, and all I can feel is his sodding arm.

Alright Lily, deep breath, focus. Envision the answers. Come on now. He's not gonna move his arm so deal with it. You're not some mushy-gushy girl sap. You were raised by your _father_ , surrounded by neighborhood _boys_. You know how to pack a punch— so, again, deep breath. Take that estrogen out of your body and throw it in his face, focus for just eight more minutes!

Six minutes left, nine questions. Is that his leg? By Jove, he's either overly fidgety or he's coming on to me; in the middle of our Arithmancy quiz— which I'm going to fail because of his distracting qualities.

Is it healthy for my heart to be racing this fast? If it picks up its pace anymore, I swear it's gonna come soaring out of my chest. Oh bloody hell, what if I'm having a heart attack? Yeah, that's likely: **"Girl dies of heart complications during her weekly Arithmancy quiz"**. Oh sod it. Focus Lily. It's not that hard! Four minutes... eight questions.

Alright, buckling down. I've resigned myself that he's not gonna move and that I somewhat enjoy his interaction. Now I have two questions left...

one...

and done! phew. I can just see the crowd cheering for me.  


Now I just have to get up and hand in the quiz — and leave his comfort. 

**abc.**

 

I believe I'm on the brink of insanity. You see, I am the luckiest sodding girl alive. I got to sit right next to Mason Dobenecker today in Arithmancy, as you must already know. However, today, after my heart-pounding class Mason came up to me to ask if I wanted to go with him to Hogsmeade, which is two weeks away.

  
Can you say elation? Hell, can you describe it?! I was seriously contemplating  jumping off the wall but I had to keep my refined cool around my biggest crush.  
_Lily and Mason_ , we'd be the perfect couple, eh? Me with my curly red hair, pale skin, short athletic stature from years of football, running, and recently— quidditch and Mason with his soft blond hair, creamy light blue eyes and not to mention his status as Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain.

So this Mason chap, you could probably compare him to my best mate James Potter in several elusive ways. 

One, Mason's tall, rich, and charming, as is James. 

Two, his family is long standing as Pureblood (this may not work in my favor).

Three, Mason's a quidditch captain and fantabulous beater— although I must keep my alliance up with James and say that James is just a bit better. 

Now you know the casual facts on Mason Dobenecker. Here's the intricate stuff that I, and other swoony girls love: Mason is so sweet, lately he's been calling me beautiful every time he sees me. I know he's just flirting, but hey, at least my excessive beauty (psh) has attracted his attention.

Last night, I was on my usual Thursday night prefect patrol when I ran into Mason coming down from the owlry and we talked a bit before I left him at the Ravenclaw common room, but not before he said "Good night, Beautiful". He sure moves fast with flipping out those endearments. I think I turned to mush right there. Good thing it was dark.

Then Mason gently touches me with his arm today during Arithmancy and the whole "go to Hogsmeade with me Lily?" after class has definitely given me some strength that we might actually become the Lily and Mason: perfect couple. I need to talk to Amelia! I mean, it's not every day that your dream comes true, is it?

It's such a _beautiful_ day! Here comes Amelia now, fantastic, I can talk her ear off and then she can give me all her girly-girl advice on 'how to catch' the guy. Wonderful, superb... I'm turning into that mushy-gushy girl aren't I? Sod it all. 

**abc.**

dinner. 

“You’re hopeless sometimes.” Amelia bit into her turkey sandwich as I ranted on about my infatuation, and how I need to barrow her clothes for the 'date'. She needs to get used to this new side of me. I have officially found out that guys inhabit the earth and some are _fiiine_.

“Oh, gee thanks. I pick real winners as friends.”

"That you do, Chili. Pass me the potatoes?" Ordering me around now, is he? Berk.

Yeah, James and I are pals, so I can treat him like crap. We share this love/hate friendship thing. We spend our time together either dissing each other or flirting (which I must say is too much fun to pass up even when Amelia's around, I mean, she knows our relationship is perfectly platonic, so why worry?). This so happens to be a time where I ignore him into oblivion until he gets über mad, and that, my friends, is where I get to laugh evilly and eat all the potatoes myself. Cheers.

"So, Amelia did you hear about Anthony Tolderhaust?" I slopped a large amount of potatoes on my fresh plate.

"No, nothing I can remember." Amelia replied, squirting ketchup on her corn.

"Ew, 'Meil. I can't marry someone who takes ketchup from it's normal form and terrorizes it." Amelia shot James a glare and squeezed harder on her ketchup bottle exploding its contents onto not only her corn, but also Peter's. Thus sending Peter into a cranky fit.

"Seriously Amelia, respect others, for once in your vainglorious life—"

"Peter. Shut up." I intervened. His mouth normally didn't run like that. I earned a small glare from Peter. Nice to know he still hates me — I suppose that's mutual. The record still stands: two marauders hating Lilea K. Evans and two liking.

"Anyways!" Remus sighed, behind his newspaper, fearing an all out row would develop. With me, anything's possible with a few misplaced words. what can I say? I have a strong sense of opinion.

“What about Anthony?” Amelia asked, picking up where Remus left off.

“Some dolt bet him fifty galleons to date Winnefreda McCready for longer than two weeks—“

“Winnie?” Amelia sputtered and shivered at the thought.

Poor Winnefreda, poor eccentric Winnie. Her hair's always in a bun, her skirt is always reaching her ankles—kankles— _excuse_ me, her cheeks match that of a porcelain doll; her blush in an exact bright pink circle. And then, poor Winnefreda, turtle shell glasses that magnify her dull gray eyes to extreme measures. Taking the cake, Winnie's just a wee bit out there, if you know what I mean.

“Gag me with a rubber spoon.” I said agreeing. “But then, how cruel is that?” I asked exasperated. "Going out with a person... possibly making their day, I mean, how much attention from the opposite sex—“

“Opposite intrigues her now?” I punched James.

“Achem, for giving her attention, but then finding out it was only a bet. The whole purpose was to make her the laughing stock of Hogwarts.” I finished.

“Phew, glad I don't look like her.”

“Amelia!” I groaned.

“What? She's horrendous.” Perfection of innocence Amelia was.  


“And how about her promoting the Pureblood race, I say we just,” and Sirius made a motion across his neck indicating 'kill'.

“What are you people _on_? She's a person. Be humane for just a moment, yeah?” I sighed, not quite understanding their line of thought. Unconsciously I searched the Great Hall for Winnefreda, but she was no where to be found. Probably too embarrassed, I surmised.

“You're right, she has feelings inside that awful ruffly-sort dress.” James said, seemingly actually trying to feel bad.

“Hey James, I'll give you two-hundred to take Winnie to Hogsmeade next saturday.” Sirius snickered.

“So... no one really feels bad for her?” I inquired, kinda put out by their lack of respect. I understand my chums are rich and all, they could have anything in the world if they wanted it, but I didn't realize they were this spoiled.

“Lily, she sets her self up for disaster. You know it, so stop playing Miss Universe and join us down here on planet earth.” Amelia said. I'm sensing a bit of frustration. Amelia's usually next to me with the Mother Teresa spirit. What's going on? Perhaps it has nothing to do with Winnie. Let's see, personality today... Amelia seemed right thrilled about me and Mason. She seems just as thrilled about her turkey sandwich. Is that a bit odd? Perhaps we have some underlying issues... but now's not the time to comtemplate that.  


“Just thought a little humanity would cheer her up.” I said, grabbing an apple and my bag. Enough of these spoiled dolts. I have better things to do. Such as... understand the fourteen constraints of the Niftus charm. 

**abc.**

Somewhere between lunch and dinner, my appetite hit the roof. I was having hallucinations of dancing turkey legs and fried ice cream desserts. Sadly, my apple at lunch did not hold my soaring appetite. Perhaps next time, I shouldn't get angry and depart without at least a turkey sandwich squarely in my greedy hands.

Amelia took pity on me, however, and gave me her spare sugar quill during History of Magic. I think it was just too get me to shut up, I tend to whine a bit too much nowadays. I need my voice to be heard is all!

Basically, this day was a fiasco. A fiasco for all those poor little girls who will only dream about Mason Dobenecker. Poor sods, don't I just feel so giddy with gloating! The other fiasco was another stupid rift between me and my pureblooded goofs. It's not really a rift, 'cuz just a moment ago, me and James were in a heavy arm wrestle, which wouldn't be a lie to say I didn't win. Was that tricky? It was meant to be.

Cheers my chums. Pray life goes smoother... and for poor Winnefreda. Such a sob story, she takes my cake today.

Always, Lilea K. Evans Master of Arms. 

**abc.**

It's snowing here in small town Iowa and I felt like writing. Hopefully you liked it and decide to review.

I'll make you all a snowman if you do review.

Cheers. Abarraine 


	4. Rain Painted

disclaimer: I own the story line of this piece and Mason Dobenecker. Es todo.

this story is basically an extended version of Lily's journal and thoughts. Her full name is Lilea (Lil-ee-ya) Kensley Evans. But she goes by Lily. So, don't get thrown off or mad. Otherwise, enjoy and if you have questions - ask. This is an AU.

Update: Lily's infatuation with Mason Dobenecker has paid off... now the results. Abarraine. Marzo 20.2006.  


\--------------------------------------  


15 Marzo.

It was a horrible day, that's for sure. I don't need a fortune teller to verify it for me, heck, I don't even have to think over the events, it's so easy to see. No magnifying glasses needed. If today was a thesis paper, the title would boldly glare: **Record Breaking Worst Day in the History of the World, Ever**. I'm sure if I had spilled the beans of my disastrous dilemma, the news boys standing on dirty corners would be grinning ear to ear over the newly acquired gossip. It was juicy. It was tragic. It was humiliating.

And as usual I was the butt of the joke. Laughingstock. The simpleton, jestee, derision, mockery... need any more synonyms? 'Cos I'm sure I can walk into Durmish and Bang's and find a rare-sort of thesaurus for this specific purpose.

I'm Lily Evans. Resident Muggleborn. Girl with that unnatural curly red hair. Bloody Brilliant. Hardly any social skills. Irish to the core... and odd. Stereotypes have never been my friend. And for the rest of my life, I believe we'll always butt heads.

I'm Lily Evans. Most everyone knows me from one situation or another. I have a habit of skirting topics I don't like to talk about. I also have a habit of sticking my foot in my mouth. I must also condone, I have an oddly innate sense of overestimating as I walk, move, dance, and even standing. The result therefore is my close relationship, as in great amity, with the wonderful ground. Be it my chum Cobblestone, or Sir Greenly Grass, or ... my favorite amigo whom I met up with again today: Miser, not to be confused with mister, Mud.

Humiliating sums up my feelings in a rather low expressive sense. However, catastrophic seems to overdo it some. It may make me come across as a bit self-imposed, egotistical, pompous? Yes.

Story!

It's a dreary March day. The sun is teasing me occasionally by winking coyly behind the gray, choppy clouds. They're cumulus by the way. They no longer have to threaten the prospect of rain because they broke their vows and let the ... heavenly? no. perturbing rain flow this morning before breakfast. I didn't even get to wake up with Mr. Sunshine. Dreadful it was.

I'm being so melodramatic because today just so happens to be a Hogsmeade day. The most anticipated Hogsmeade day of my life, and well, for others too. Everyone marks their calendars with big hearts or stars or confetti-look-a-likes on this magnificent day. It's the 15th, by the way.

I know. I should have seen it coming, being the Ides of March.

I was blinded by my sheer excitement of my anticipated date with Mason Dobenecker.

I was blinded by my giddiness.

By Amelia's avid throwing of cute mini-skirts and low-cut halters in my face. (I gagged upon seeing the final version on my lithe body. Would any poor soul want to see me like this in public? No. Bloody. Way. I told Amelia so).

Finally. I didn't see the Ides of March upon us because my own calendar date of Saturday the 15th of March was doodled around so ferociously with scarlet hearts that the '15' was made practically illegible. Could I help it that the red of the hearts was a deep crimson hue? No. Or that I was in an unbashfully wonderful mood? Again, no.

The date of Hogsmeade was sure to be über fantastic while in the company of the delicious Mason Dobenecker. Elation. That's the name of my world at this precise moment in time.

I begged Amelia to do my hair all cute; essentially, just make me more girly. Take away my frizzies and turn my natural curls into something more formal and less hinting of my spontaneous character. She relented and I must say, oo la la. Hey, girls my age are supposed to have arrogant moments. It's expected, so get over it. Plus, this so happens to be my diary, hence my name on the inside cover. And if there's any time or place where I can express my thoughts in an unadulterated fashion, here it is.

I absolutely refused to wear Amelia's mini skirts and opted for my 'practically-second-skin' jeans. As a Muggleborn, I have my love of jeans, and this pair so happens to be my most favorite. I even have a glittery butterfly on the back pocket to cover a hole; I've had them since forever. Patch 'em up, and pull 'em on. That's my insight.

Enough of my rambles. I'm trying to add climax and yet nurse my poor ego by going about this slowly.

Cookies anyone? ...right. Enough time-squandering.

I met Mason at the Three Broomsticks. He was drop dead gorgeous. Can I divulge in any more synonyms to add to your mental picture? I believe my heart skipped a beat and Amelia had to shove me some so that my limbs would move again. Have you ever had it where you're in like a REM paralysis state and only your eyes, lungs and heart seem to be functioning? And even then... my heart threatened to come flying out of my ribcage.

There he was, in angelic glory. I swear there was a ethereal light shining on his blond curls. The harsh light of the tavern accentuated his sharp cheekbones and strong chin. I noticed he had a small spray of freckles across his cheeks and nose. He was the essence of hot and manly with this underside of cuddly cute. Could he be more perfect?

He smiled at me, that dazzling smile of his. I swear he could pose for a Colgate commercial. Gosh, he's adorable and I'm about to drown in my own mushy-gushyness. Is it hot in here?

“Hey Beauty. Never thought you'd make it.” His deep voice seemed to reverberate throughout my skull. Yes. It is hot in here.

I must say, I am ashamed. I giggled at his compliment of 'beauty'. Seriously! He's calling moi beautiful! I must have stepped into an alternate reality where 'everything goes wonderfully smashing for Lily Evans'.

Smashing. That could be taken two ways, couldn't it? At the beginning I was content with the positive connotation of that word, but as time went on...

We spent the first half hour or so contemplating what exactly there is to do in Hogsmeade. We'd already checked “get delicious and frothy butterbeer from Rosmerta” off our list of things to do. But then, our conversation turned to those darned awkward silences.

“So, uh, Herbology was great the other day, eh?” I just stared at him as he questioned me, I tried to find the relevance between our date... and Herbology. I guess I should play along.

“Er, yeah. Those HornFengs were satanic. James' almost tore my hair out.”

Slowly, I suppose Herbology wasn't that bad of a topic. We careened around topics like cheese, waterbugs, and finally to Quidditch. I was thrilled to divulge my love for quidditch with another sport lover. He's Ravenclaw's team captain. We spent atleast half an hour arguing over who had the best build team. Strategy and skill wise. Of course, we finally decided to let next month's game decide for us. Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw. A sure out victory for Gryffindor if I dare say myself. Which I didn't say out loud on the pretense that this was a date, not an attempt to lose the date.

After a while, our conversation slowed and on a random thought to keep the date going I thought we should order some lunch. It was nearing one and even though he'd sufficed himself with three plus butterbeers, I hadn't eaten or drank anything since breakfast.

I confess. I hate butterbeer. It's just so sub par to that of rootbeer. Wizarding kind is sorta stuck in this alternate world where they won't even touch anything remotely Muggle. Leaving me with drinks and food that were around in the early 1500s. Butterbeer is a fine example.

I sat there, chin resting on my palm. Thoroughly engrossed in stirring my untouched Butterbeer clockwise then suddenly counter to experiment with its spinning abilities while Mason “the hunk” droned on about the irrelevant as we waited for our food.

I was bored.

I was bored to death.

But then, I'd look up at the idolization of male-god sitting in front of me and I was contented again.

So, he's not much for intellect, even though he's a Ravenclaw. But then, am I really all that courageous, being a Gryffindor and all? Stereotypes are bad. This would be a somewhat interesting topic to contemplate about later.

And so what if I'm using him as a visual pleasure rather than something brain-worthy and stimulating? I'm sixteen, he's gorgeous and he calls me beautiful.

Oh word, he is so dull!

I don't believe I've said a word in the last hour. I'd roll my eyes, but I'm pretty sure he'd see that and well... stop calling me beautiful?

Finally a saving grace came, but not soon enough. I was incorporated into the converstation!

“Lily, would you like to meet again? Say, next Hogsmeade after the quidditch game?” He asked me out again. Dilemma!

Do I sit in boredom with God's wonder to the world, or do I join my psychotic friends and play tag throughout the town? Which is more stimulating?

“Sure, I'd love to, Mason.” What the heck just came out of my mouth! Hormones. That's what I'll call it. Sheer curse-able hormones.

At least he's hot.

Now to the humiliating aspect of my life. It was raining, see written above. And it was unnaturally breezy. Immediately I was chilled to the bone. I remember cursing myself for not layering. At least I still had my striking red and crimson scarf that James' mum made me for Christmas. I absolutely love Meira Potter.

Mason and I said goodbye to each other in front of The Three Broomsticks. The rain was light, but there was a distinct rumbling in the distance and the mountains were covered in a haze that I knew was a torrential downpour.

I had to find James and Amelia quick before I was thoroughly drenched. Here's where all communication died between Lily's awkward body and frazzled mind. My feet were far too slow for my brain's concept of turn-and-don't-step-off-the-curb advice. Mason was still standing there as my left foot —without the slightest bit of elegance at all— slid off the curb and brought the rest of my five foot two body with it.

Careening out of control, I literally saw my so-called life flash before my eyes. I could see Mason's face, his eyes bugging out of his chiseled face. He must have a badly communicating mind as well, because he didn't move a bone to try and catch me. Sodding bugger.

I hit the cobblestone soundly. Mud splashed into my curly, rain drenched hair and into every crevice on my face. My jeans and coat were suddenly painted brown. However, at that moment, I couldn't have cared if I had landed in permanent ink rather than mud, for all my rational thought was focused on my oddly angled ankle.

And the excruciating pain. Holy, bleeding, sodding, shitoki mushrooms!

I remember glaring at my ankle then falling onto my back, in the incriminating mud, and holding the bridge of my nose to suppress the acid-like tears from pouring down my face. The pouring rain camouflaged them well enough, I shouldn't have worried.

I don't know how long I was laying in the muddy puddle, trying my darndest to suppress my tears before Mason snapped to action and ...

HE BLOOD ASKED ME IF I WAS ALRIGHT?

“Does it look like I'm alright you wanker?” I bit out. I tell ya, pain really brings out my temper. Although, I do feel bad for biting his head off because I'm the one who brought all this upon myself. But, come on, surely the guy has enough sense to help me bloody well stand up and move out of the pouring rain!

Er... I told him that, too. I'm not sure our date's still on for next Hogsmeade, but, can I really say that I care? The guys a total swot. He can barely think on his own.

He finally lifted me out of the mud, grimacing at the thought of his precious plum robes getting mud drenched. Sorry, chum. You should know that when with Lilea Evans, all things are possible. Be prepared at all times. James knows this. I believe he carries around Muggle band aids just for me. Isn't he a sweetheart?

Mason dearest was relieved of his duties when Caradoc Dearborn came running out of The Three Broomsticks.

“I'll take her Mason.” Wonderful. I'm being shuffled about like some ruddy piece of meat. I think my repressed disgust for Caradoc came out when I fainted on him. Or maybe it was the pain?

Couldn't tell you. All I know is that the hospital wing is indeed my second home.

Enjoying the solitude of pristine and nauseating white,

The humiliated: Lilea Kensley Evans

P.S. Hopefully, you're getting used to my sarcasm. Till next time. G'bye. 

______________________________________

**a/n please review. the more you review, the easier it is to write. I feel more motivated.**


	5. Hard to be Faithful

disclaimer: I own the story line and Mason Dobnecker, es todo.

update: still in Hogsmeade, folks!

a/n: I hope you all really really enjoy this, cuz i absolutely LOVE writing this story. feedback please!

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Abarraine.Septiembre 22.2006.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Hard to be Faithful**

15th of March. Hogsmeade.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
"Will this rain ever cease? Does it realize how _long_ I spent on my hair this morning? This is bloody predictable." Amelia huffed, glaring hotly at the constant downpour that was the molester of her once impeccable locks. Here she was, stuck on an infamous 'date' with her _fiancée_ James Potter and she was in agony. Well, emotional agony. Sure she loved James, but she couldnt help but visualize him in a purely _friends_ category. Her emotions just didn't expand that far, in concordance with the universe, love was not supposed to be forced on people. But yet James and her had been mates since she was born, her parents and the Potters had made sure of it. James was born eight months ahead of her and all the while, the rumor is, they lived in fear and peril until a worthy female was born. I should feel so honored.

Huff to that, Amelia thought. I may be worthy, but I'm not right for James. He needs someone who's a bit more scatterbrained, to throw him off track a bit. See, James dear is someone who has so much responsibility he's taken it upon himself to make sure everything for _everyone_ goes accordingly. He's the brother to a lonely girl, the best mate to all rambunctious boys, a mentor to the young, and bless his heart, a prank protégée. He's made too much of a burden on his back, trying to fix everyone's wounds and worries. He needs to relax. He plays it off that he doesn't care, that whatever you do is fine, but really, he's too responsible and grown up to be a seventeen-year-old boy. He needs that girl who can fly off the handle and dance in the rain, Who loves to eat candy late at night even though it may spoil her sleep. Who can't help but laugh in the middle of Arithmancy, even when it's a life or death situation if you do. The girl who takes life carefree.

Sadly, I'm not a spazzy girl like that. I like my hair dry and un-frizzed from the persistent rain. I like to live my life in a sheltered, protected way. I've seen too much suffering; I can't shake the heavy weight off my heart. I'm much too impressionable. I like to spend half an hour fixing my make-up, having the exact shade of dress to fit my complexion. I like the boy who lends me his arm when we go for a walk so I won't trip in my stilettos. I'm a refined girl; I was raised to be pampered.

"Jaaaaaaaames. I refuse to leave until the rain stops." Amelia stated, still glaring out the rain-streaked window of Madam Puddifoot's cafe. James glanced from Amelia to the cobblestone street that could be seen through the window. He sighed quietly, willing himself not to roll his eyes, Amelia was being such a pain today.

Personally James loved the rain. He loved playing Quidditch when the wind was soft and the rain flowed down gently from the Heavens, as a delicate, cooling shower. He loved the feel of raindrops slapping his face and running down the length of his arms. It was a calming, almost unnerving sensation to him. Where James hated swimming, he never minded the soaking downpour of summer's rain. Almost a paradox, but then, James considered his life the ultimate paradox, forever becoming more intricate and ridiculous.

"Amelia, it's just a bit of rain. Besides, I really don't care if your hair turns into a fro, you look the same to me." James, however insensitive it was, really could not care what Amelia looked like. Truth be told, he never really spent much time looking _at_ her, rather looking past her, trying to envision someone else in which he would share his life with.

Amelia's eyes narrowed as she turned away from the window to glare at James Potter. How could he be so disrespectful to her? Didn't he know that she was something great; even if neither of them wanted the fate they had been given?

She was beautiful, rich, elite, charming -- what was she missing that didn't incite desire in him?

"Amelia, you know I didn't mean it that way. You look beautiful either way, love." James tried to fix his mistake. He felt like a jerk, putting her down like that. He hadn't meant for the words to be strung in such a demeaning phrase. He simply was too preoccupied to care. And really, it wasn't like she forced this relationship on him. He should be cursing her medieval father instead of her. Besides, she _was_ beautiful, if that's what you were looking for.

"Did you want lunch?" Amelia questioned, trying to ease the tense air that had settled around them. James was off in his own world again, staring out at the wet world. He was intent on keeping his eyes off of her, she noticed. As he was perpetually in his own little world, Amelia took the time to trace his chiseled features with her eyes. She captured his dark, silky locks first. They looked to be slightly damp and curled a bit. They had had to sprint inside the café this morning due to Amelia's harsh need for safety from precipitation. James, however, had stopped to give Lily Evans a hug as she passed with Mason Dobenecker-- Lily had seemed a bit unconfident, which was quite an unexercised department in her character, and needed the moral support. This was james' remark when Amelia asked why he would hug another girl  while on _their_ date.

Amelia's mind traveled back to the present as her gaze traveled to the base of his neck, which was dotted with gentle curls that she suddenly had a passion to caress; her fingers itched in her lap. His deep, powerful eyes were out of focus to her and she could barely see a fraction of his intense golden orbs as they stared away from her. His glasses became almost a symbolic wall that only allowed a few people to see inside. She tried to recall the last time she had felt him staring at her with his efficacious gaze.

It was as if it hurt to look at her, but she couldn't fathom why-- he had never shown any favor in any other girl, had he? Had she been blind to his other advances? Or was he so closed to the female race after his forced betrothal that he didn't want anything to do with her or another girl.

Amelia stopped herself. Her eyes widening, her breath short. A sharp pain stabbed her in the chest as she replayed the scene from earlier. Lily's gentle smile towards James as he came to hug her. Was it possible that Lily was falling for James? James for Lily? Was it truly possible? Lily'd sworn an oath that she'd never break the vows of friendship, and this definitely interceded on those specified rules.

For a moment Amelia hated her best friend. Her mind flew over the scenes that James and Lily had shared, trying to analyze all the motions and words of both. She knew Lily was cute, pretty, spunky. She knew James was impressionable, so if it was anyone's fault, it was Lily's.

As if the essence of bi-polar was projected from definition into human form, Amelia was the description. She felt the hollowness that became from the unfairness forced into the situation. The regret of holding mutinous views about her best friend. She wasn't supposed to doubt her friend. Trust was an ever-present mold in any relationship and hating her best friend; that was inconceivable. The girl who had been with her for ages, helping her primp, shoving handfuls of candy into her backpack for her to find while in a dead-as-hell boring class, dragging her to eat dinner when she felt fat, but hadn't eaten all day... did she really have the evidence or permissible thought to doubt her friend?

So what was wrong with her chest? Why did it suddenly hurt to breathe when he had hugged Lily?

Curse it if she was jealous.

Amelia had the right to be jealous, she was betrothed to bloody James Potter. The bloke of the century. She was Amelia Reneé Bones -- the bird of the century. She was, due to her status, naturally allowed to get what she wanted. And granted, she didn't want James, but he was hers nonetheless. And he was to stay hers.   


She sighed, almost hopelessly.

If only she could touch his cold heart that was always placed between them and their love.

"If you wish to take lunch, sure, Amelia. I just want another butterbeer." James replied, still gazing out the window spying a boy and girl frolicking in the rain. His grin grew slightly as he watched them giggle and shove one another flirtingly. Why was life so complicated?

________________________________________________________________________________  
"Bloody Merlin! Don't!"

"Shhh, just lay still, would you, hon."

"Please, just don't touch it! _No_!"

"Lily! You will _not_ shout at me."

Lily glared at the mediwitch and grabbed a pillow to stuff over her head and screamed; screamed bloody murder as the witch set her horribly broken ankle. Her labored breathing continued as Madame Aatje, the Dutch mediwitch, prodded and pocked her ankle while whispering incantations. Sadly, however, Lily had royally torn the ligaments in her ankle along with messily breaking and cracking it.

_This is bloody, sodding brilliant, Lily. You dusch_. Lily yelled at herself. Madame Aatje had yet to obtain a sleepy draught or Tylenol-like substance to ease her sharp, steady pain.

"There dear, the swelling will stay for awhile and you'll have a lovely bruise, so try and stay off it, will you? I've re-sewn the bone and ligaments, but the moment you step wrongly on it, dear, they'll tear like a plumb grape off its vine...."

_Great analogy, you insane, over protective mongoose._ Lily'd sunk to harassing and name-calling her mediwitch in her head. And a mongoose! How low can you go?

Madame Aatje was looking pointedly at her, as Lily tried not to incriminate herself by staring innocently into Aatje's eyes. Lily was known throughout to be somewhat of a klutz, or easily placed in compromising positions where something wrong usually occurred. Could she help it that her genetics weren't kind to her in the way of balance? Honestly, no. What nature giveth, Lily acceptath. Er... something to that effect.

Lily rose to a sitting position and looked to stand when Madame Aatje's hand firmly found its way to Lily's bony shoulder, forcing her back on to the unaccommodating hospital bed. Lily groaned, but didn't bother to protest, she'd suddenly found the room to be uniquely dark, as if the sun had decided to set early. That was her last memory as she soon was engulfed in her dream world.

________________________________________________________________________________  
A ways away, in the quaint town of Hogsmeade, sat two very lonely people. Staring at one another held no emotion or enjoyment. They pulled off such a stunning façade of toleration and affection when around each other that no one, not even their best friends, could decipher their true emotions. They smiled and chatted, they ate lunch together and he bought her chocolates, they took walks arm in arm; but deeply, in their hearts, the gestures were purely amiable. No passion was sparked, no love embraced. They were two lonely souls acting in a play they had no fervor for.

_______________________________________________________________________________

: 

more updates to come when I receive reviews. It's a win-win situation for everyone. ;) Have a great weekend, all. 


End file.
